


3 a.m.

by Aria_Faye



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ghost Hunters, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 07:09:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Faye/pseuds/Aria_Faye
Summary: Yuuri catches the 3 a.m. bus home in Detroit and meets a beautiful stranger at the bus stop.My piece for the YOI Horror Zine.





	3 a.m.

It is well past midnight when doorbell rings, though Phichit wouldn’t have expected anything else from the people he’d called. It’s storming, too, like the weather had picked up on the mood of the night.

The people standing on the porch certainly fit their roles—both imposing, stoic figures backlit occasionally by lightning. They had come empty-handed. “Uh—” Phichit says, “don’t you need like…_equipment_ for this kind of thing?”

The woman—tall, dark hair pulled back harshly—steps into the house. “Not if the event in question is earthly in nature, Mr. Chulanont.” She turns back to the door, where the young man is hanging up his leather jacket. “Mr. Altin, my protégé,” she introduces, and then, sharply: “The tapes.” Phichit leads the way.

Celestino sits in the living room, putting a stack of DVDs in order by date. He stands and shakes the woman’s hand. “Ms. Baranovskaya, I assume?” She nods. Celestino gestures to the DVDs on the coffee table helplessly. “We already tried the police, but they didn’t take us seriously. They wanted to treat it like any other missing persons case.”

“And what makes you think that the subject is missing, Professor?” Ms. Baranovskaya asks.

“Yuuri is one of my best students,” Celestino replies gravely. “He’s never missed a class before, not without at least an email explaining his absence. I haven’t seen or heard from him in a week.”

Ms. Baranovskaya levels Phichit with a stern gaze. “You’re his roommate, yes?”

“Yes ma’am. And his best friend. He wouldn’t do this.”

She looks skeptical. “And you’re certain there is reason to believe that this is not a standard kidnapping?”

Celestino and Phichit look at each other before Phichit says, “Um—we thought it was at first.”

“But then?”

“But then, the tapes.”

Ms. Baranovskaya is silent for a moment, exchanging loaded glances with Mr. Altin. Then, they seat themselves on the sofa and she says, “I’ll need to see everything. Start from the beginning.”

Celestino nods and puts on the first disc.

_Yuuri sat in a chair, looking vaguely into the camera. “How’s your week been?” his offscreen therapist asked._

_“My mom called the other day.” Yuuri fidgeted with his hands in his lap. “Told me my dog died. Back home.”_

_“Oh Yuuri, I’m sorry to hear that.”_

_“Yeah, me too. I could only think of how long I’ve been here. How much time I’ve missed with my family.”_

_“Going abroad for college can be very difficult.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Yuuri’s brow furrowed as he looked down, watching his fingers twist and untwist—twist, untwist._

_“Is there something else on your mind?” the therapist asked gently._

_Yuuri hesitated. “Is it—Do you think it’s weird if—”_

_There was a long silence. The therapist said, “Remember this is a judgement-free zone, Yuuri. You can speak plainly here.”_

_Yuuri nodded. Sighed. “Is it weird that I feel like I was there? When he died?”_

_“It’s not unusual to feel responsibility for the deaths of those we love.”_

_Yuuri shook his head. “It’s not like that. It’s like I was _actually_ there. Watching him choke on the pork bun.”_

_“Is that how it happened?”_

_“That’s another thing,” Yuuri said. “My mom never told me how Vicchan died. But I know it was a pork bun. I can see it. In my mind.”_

_“Did your dog—Vicchan—like pork buns?”_

_“He’d never eaten one before in his life. We were always careful to keep him out of them. But I _know_ that’s how he died, Yuuko. It’s like—like I lived it. I don’t know how I know, but I do.”_

“Hmm.” Ms. Baranovskaya says. She and Mr. Altin sit on the couch, arms crossed in mirror image. “Next,” she says. Celestino switches discs.

_Yuuri was smiling this time. “You’ll be proud of me, Yuuko,” he said to his offscreen therapist. “I met someone.”_

_“Oh, that’s wonderful, Yuuri! A new friend?”_

_Yuuri blushed. “Kind of. I met him on the bus.”_

_“Tell me about him.”_

_Yuuri’s smile turned shy. “His name is Victor. He’s really sweet. When I covered Phichit’s shift at the bar the other night, I had to take a different bus back. So I got to the bus stop, and Victor was already there, waiting.”_

_“Did you talk to him at all?”_

_“Yeah, I did.” Yuuri looked up, presumably at Yuuko. “He didn’t talk back, though. He’s mute.”_

_“Is he deaf too?”_

_“No, he hears me. He doesn’t know much ASL, though, so it’s kind of hard to have a conversation.”_

_“If you ever cover Phichit’s shift again, bring a notepad and pen,” Yuuko suggested. “He may appreciate the thought.”_

_Yuuri smiled again. “Good idea Yuuko. Yeah, he was…really…”_

_“Sweet?”_

_“Yeah.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And cute.”_

_“Cute, huh?”_

_“Really cute.”_

_“What’d he look like?”_

_Yuuri looked sheepishly at his hands. A tick of his. “Like an actual angel. Silver hair, blue eyes. He was wearing all white. Just an old white tee-shirt and white jeans. Practically glowed in the moonlight. It sounds so stupid, but if you’d seen him, you’d understand. He had this look. Like, if I reached out to touch him, he might just…dissolve.”_

_“He sounds gorgeous.”_

_“Yeah, he was.”_

_“Are you going to see him again?”_

_Yuuri shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll see if Phichit needs to swap shifts again. Maybe he’ll be there for the three AM bus, like last time.”_

“The three AM bus,” Mr. Altin says. Celestino pauses the recording while Mr. Altin and Ms. Baranovskaya share a speaking look.

Finally, Ms. Baranovskaya says, “This may be more serious than we’d thought.”

“What’d’you mean, more serious?” Phichit asks quietly.

Ms. Baranovskaya drills him with a stare. “Do you know of this bus stop? The one with the three o’clock bus that the subject speaks of?”

Shaking his head, Phichit says, “I don’t think there are any lines in the area with a three o’clock bus. There’s a two forty-five on one line, and a three fifteen on the other.”

“And another one with a three twenty,” Celestino adds. “But no three o’clock.”

“I always thought he was kind of…rounding.”

Ms. Baranovskaya and Mr. Altin nod in tandem. “Let us continue,” she says.

_New session. Yuuri looked sleepy. Rumpled. He stifled a yawn._

_“Late night?” Yuuko asked._

_“Yeah, sorry.”_

_“I hope you weren’t out partying,” Yuuko teased. Clearly a joke between them._

_“Working, actually,” Yuuri clarified. “Took Phichit’s closing shift again. _He_ was out partying.”_

_Yuuko laughed. “What a good friend you are.”_

_With a shrug, Yuuri said, “It wasn’t entirely selfless. I was hoping—maybe…at the bus stop after…”_

_“You’d see Victor again,” Yuuko finished, and Yuuri immediately flushed. “Did you?”_

_“…Yeah.”_

_“And?”_

_“I had a notepad,” Yuuri said. “I offered it, but he didn’t use it. He looked for a second like he wanted to, though. I don’t know why he refused.”_

_“Sometimes people with disabilities don’t want to accept help,” Yuuko replied. “Sometimes, that feels like defeat to them.”_

_“Yeah, maybe.”_

_“Tell me about what else happened. You seem troubled.”_

_Yuuri paused. “That’s the thing though. Nothing was different. I talked. Told stories about the customers at the bar. He laughed. Smiled. Like the last time, only…freer. It was comfortable and easy. I—I like him very much.”_

_“Then why don’t you look happy?”_

_This time, Yuuri hesitated for even longer. Fidgeted with his hands. Drew a long breath. “I—maybe I just missed it the first night, but—I noticed something. A scar. This is going to sound crazy, but…it was on his neck. Like…I don’t know—ligatures or something. A rope or a cord. Like he’d been choked.”_

_“It’s quite possible that trauma to his throat as a kid is what prevented his vocal cords from developing.”_

_Yuuri shook his head. “It looked—new. Angry, like it had just happened. And I didn’t want to mention it or draw any attention to it, but it was so…strange. He acted like it wasn’t even there. I mean—if he’d gone through something like that as recently as it looked, I would have expected more…well. Less smiling and laughing, at least.”_

_“That is odd.”_

_“Aside from that, it was a nice night,” Yuuri said. “And that was all on me anyway. Victor was nothing but…excessively charming.” Yuuri blushed again._

“Next,” Ms. Baranovskaya demands.

_“I know where the ligature marks came from,” Yuuri said. “The ones on Victor’s neck.”_

_“And where is that?” Yuuko asked gently._

_Yuuri looked at her, eyes hollow. Haunted. “They’re from a noose. When he hung himself.”_

_“…You think he attempted suicide?”_

_“I _know_ he did. The same way I know about Vicchan and the pork bun.”_

_“Like you were there.”_

_“Yeah.” Yuuri shuddered visibly. “It’s also how I know Victor didn’t just attempt suicide. I think he succeeded.”_

_Yuuko let that hang for a moment before saying, “You…think he’s…dead?”_

_“I’m almost certain of it,” Yuuri said. “Which…is a problem. Because I also think I’m in love with him.”_

Celestino pauses the tape. “This is where Phichit and I started to worry. At first, we thought Yuuri may have been drugged—”

“He was not drugged, Professor,” Ms. Baranovskaya says. “This is not without precedent.”

The house creaks around them as lightning blazes down jagged from the sky outside. Nobody speaks for a long moment. “Sometimes,” Mr. Altin says, his quiet, even voice dissolving the silence, “a spirit has difficulty crossing over. Often suicides. Crimes of passion. If what your friend is saying is true, then it’s quite possible that we’re dealing with a Class 4 Corporeal Apparition. Very human.” He and Ms. Baranovskaya look gravely at them, and then at the television. At Yuuri’s face.

Phichit swallows. “Are they—are they dangerous? These Class 4 things?”

“That depends,” Mr. Altin says.

“On?”

Mr. Altin turns back to the television. Leans forward toward the screen. “On whether or not they have realized they are dead.”

“Some can remain benign for decades,” Ms. Baranovskaya says. “Centuries, in one or two cases. So long as they believe themselves to be alive, they pose no threat.”

“And—uh. What happens once they know they’re not?” Phichit hazards.

Neither Mr. Altin nor Ms. Baranovskaya reply.

Thunder claps once. Lightning. Rain slams itself against the windows. Phichit clears his dry throat. “Can Yuuri really be in love with a ghost?” he asks.

“A Class 4 Corporeal?” Mr. Altin says. “Absolutely.”

“And what’s more, the ghost—as you call it—can love him back.” Ms. Baranovskaya’s eyes are hard as she adds, “For a time. All Apparitions come to understand their own mortality at some point, Mr. Chulanont. And then, they can love nothing.” She gestures impatiently at the television. “Next tape.”

_“Remember how I said I knew how Vicchan and Victor died?” Yuuri said. He looked worn. Grey and sleepless._

_“Yes,” Yuuko said. “Yuuri, are you alright?”_

_Yuuri shook his head violently. “There are others. On the bus. The one I take at three AM.”_

_“Other…dead people?” Yuuko tried._

_“Yes.”_

_“Tell me about them.”_

_Yuuri drew a deep, shaking breath. “There’s—there’s Georgi. Poisoned himself with pills when his girlfriend left him. He cries a lot behind romance novels. Sara and Michelle—twins. Michelle accidentally killed Sara for having a secret boyfriend. Choked her to death. Killed himself not long after. Gun in his mouth. I’m sorry—I don’t know if I can talk about this.”_

_“You can talk about whatever you’d like, Yuuri,” Yuuko said. “This is your time.”_

_Yuuri nodded. Exhaled, long and slow. “There’s a kid. Teenager. He’s _not_ dead. In a coma in the hospital, but he’s still alive. He misses his cat.”_

_“Yuuri, may I ask you something bluntly?”_

_“Um. Sure.”_

_“If the people on this bus have you so shaken, why do you keep taking it? There have to be other lines you could catch.”_

_Yuuri’s hands fussed again—together, apart. Together, apart. “The thing is,” he said, “they’re not scary or anything. They’re actually all really nice. Except Yakov. He’s kind of mean. This stuff—it doesn’t really bother me when I’m with them. It’s only really when I get home and try to sleep. I’ve been having nightmares.”_

_“I’m sure you have,” Yuuko said. “Death is hard enough to deal with when you’re not experiencing it the way you say. I’ll send you home today with a prescription for some sleep aids, okay?”_

_“Yeah, okay.”_

_Yuuko hesitates. “And Yuuri?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“I’d also like to try an antipsychotic, if that’s okay with you.”_

_“…You think I’m making this up?”_

_“No, Yuuri, I never said that. I can see that these…visions of yours are taxing you, though, and I’d like to see if we can quiet them down. Will you be willing to try this?”_

_Yuuri sighed. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t think it’ll help much, but I’ll try it.”_

“Next.”

_Yuuri sat hunched in the chair. Nearly bent double, arms folded tightly around himself. When he looked up, his eyes were red._

_“Yuuri,” Yuuko said calmly, “are you sure you want to meet today? We can reschedule if—”_

_“No, this is fine. Sorry. I’m just—is it cold? Are you cold?”_

_“No, I’m not cold. Would you like your jacket?”_

_Yuuri shook his head._

_“How has your week been?”_

_Yuuri shrugged._

_Yuuko tried a different tack. “Is there anything you want to talk about today?”_

_“Death,” Yuuri blurted. “Death. All the time. Over and over. Over and over and over and over and over…”_

_“Have you been taking the medicine I prescribed?”_

_A jerky nod. “Doesn’t stop it though. Only he can make it stop.”_

_“He?”_

_“Victor.”_

_Yuuko drew a long breath. “Of course,” she said gently. “Have you seen him lately?”_

_“Twice this week.” Yuuri’s face broke into a beaming smile. “He’s wonderful, Yuuko.”_

_“Is he?”_

_“I told him I love him.”_

_“…And how did he respond?”_

_Yuuri’s pale cheeks flushed patchily over his smile. “He told me he loves me too. Wrote it in the fog on the bus window. I told him I’d want to marry him if he was alive.”_

_“And how did he react to that?”_

_Yuuri’s face fell. “He looked…confused, at first. Then sad. Then—then he looked scared.”_

“Otabek,” Ms. Baranovskaya barks over the tail end of Yuuri’s comment in the video. “The film conversion gear.” Mr. Altin nods and hurries out of the room. Phichit hears the front door open and close. The wind whips around the corners of the house, angry. She turns to Phichit and Celestino. “Have you watched the final tape yet?”

“We tried, but it’s really grainy,” Celestino says. “The sound is all over the place, too.”

Ms. Baranovskaya nods. “I was afraid of that,” she mutters under her breath, and Phichit has to force himself not to shout at her to start making some sense already.

Altin returns with several pieces of complex-looking equipment, and he and Baranovskaya set about plugging things into the television, fiddling with the final DVD.

All Phichit can do is hope.

“The Class 4 Corporeal knows he’s dead now,” Mr. Altin is saying as he works. “And I’d bet my motorcycle he doesn’t like it.”

“He’ll need a soul,” Ms. Baranovskaya adds. “To cross over. He’ll need a living soul.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit breathes. Celestino just looks at him.

Thunder cracks outside. They both jump.

_Yuuri huddled in the chair. Twitchy. Rocking back and forth. “Yuuko,” he moaned. “I can’t make it stop.”_

_“Alright, can you tell me about what you’re experiencing?” Yuuko tried, but even she sounded frightened._

_“Death,” Yuuri said. “Death and death and death and—so much death, Yuuko. Mila—killed during sex with her hockey player boyfriend. Guang-Hong—shoved into the pond by bullies, drowned. Victor—hanged himself in his apartment. Victor—hanged himself in his apartment. Victor—hanged himself in…”_

_“Yuuri, I need you to calm down.”_

_Yuuri tore at his hair. “I can’t! That’s what I’m trying to tell you! I need—”_

The tape cuts out. Phichit remembers this part from when he and Celestino had tried it before. But Mr. Altin turns some dials, and the picture clears enough to make out shapes and movement. Infrared. The sound is weak, like they’re underwater, but it’s certainly more intelligible than the high-pitched wailing of before.

_“Victor!” Yuuri cried, jumping up from his chair and hurrying toward the newest shape onscreen. He looked just as Yuuri had described him weeks ago. He offered Yuuri a smile. “I’m so happy to see you! I didn’t think—”_

_But Victor wasn’t paying attention. He’d started stalking toward the camera—toward Yuuko._

_“Um. Hello, Victor,” Yuuko tried. “Nice to finally meet you. I—”_

_A shriek, followed by the sound of flesh ripping. A wet gurgle. A thud._

_Yuuri watched placidly._

_“I need—I need,” he muttered, holding out his arms to Victor, who gently stepped inside them, careful not to touch. The bottom of the frame pooled with blood._

“Oh my god,” Phichit breathes.

Altin and Baranovskaya watch the screen, riveted.

_“It’s so loud, Victor—all the death,” Yuuri mumbled. “Make it stop? Please, make it quiet. Please.”_

Phichit wants to close his eyes. To walk out of the room. In the end, he stays put and watches.

Watches Victor—angelic Victor—unhinge his jaw.

_A long, pointed tongue curled out of Victor’s mouth, dripping and thrashing. His mouth had opened so wide that a grown adult could have stepped inside._

_“Make it stop, make it stop,” Yuuri repeated. He lifted his hands to Victor’s distended, awful face, almost-caressing his cheeks. Smiling beatifically. “Please, my love. Make it stop.”_

_Victor lunged._

The tape stops with a click.


End file.
